


The Four Fs

by metaphoracle



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spideytorch Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 14:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19993522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphoracle/pseuds/metaphoracle
Summary: In evolutionary biology, animals (including humans) are biologically motivated to follow four basic and primal drives or instincts: fighting, fleeing, feeding and fornicating.A Spideytorch Week 2019 submission for Free Day Friday





	The Four Fs

**Author's Note:**

> A Spideytorch Week 2019 submission for Free Day Friday!
> 
> For once I wrote something that is canon compliant and works with current continuity (for now…). 
> 
> Much gratitude as always to Traincat for her encyclopedic knowledge of all things Fantastic Four and Spider-Man, and also for looking over an earlier draft of this and reassuring me it was fine, but that the sex scene could be longer.

**Fighting**

“Fuck me!” Johnny yelps, dodging another jet of water from Hydro-Man’s wiggly, watery arms. At least he hopes it’s his arms. 

“That’s Hudson water,” he complains. “I don’t even want to know what kind of bacteria and grossness are covering me right now.”

Peter watches the water evaporate in a burst of steam and snickers as he swings off one of the dock poles. “A lot of fish poop, and maybe only a little nuclear waste.” he says helpfully.

“C’mon Morrie,” he calls. “Don’t make me get Iceman involved again. You know you hate being cold.” 

Johnny groans. “Isn’t there a rule about not calling your hookups for backup?” 

Peter shoots Johnny a glare that, judging by his smirk, he feels even if he doesn’t see. “Why don’t you calm down, pal? We’ll get you a nice fishbowl to hang out in for awhile, I promise.”

There doesn’t, however, seem to be any reasoning with Morris today--he doesn’t even respond to Peter’s banter, which is…worrying. He surges towards another boat in the harbor and he quickly yanks the fisherman from the back and drops him on the dock. 

“Hey, you okay there, buddy?” he asks, sincerely concerned. 

Johnny descends, dropping another fisherman down on the dock, and then hovers next to Peter for a minute. “You remember like, six months ago, when Namor went on another world domination kick?” 

“Not really,” he admits. There’s a lot of things happening, a lot. For Peter’s sanity he tries to focus on the ones that immediately concern him, and he only sometimes feels guilty about that.

“I think our friend here was involved--captured, or something.” Johnny shrugs. “Reed’s got an alert for Namor-related activity.”

“Of course Reed does,” Peter mutters. He takes another swing past where Morris is making waves over the embankment. “Hey, Morrie--look, nobody blames you for the whole Namor thing.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Morris doubles his size, using even more of the bay, causing shockwaves to ripple through the marina. 

“Good job, Spider-Man,” Johnny says, sarcastically. “Now what?”

Now what is a good question. He knows they’re probably on the news by now, so maybe they’ll get lucky and either Morris will tire himself out, or someone else will join them who can do more than just try to rescue bystanders and stray fishermen. 

**Fleeing**

Running from danger isn’t in Peter’s nature, but sometimes he wishes it was. Johnny looks wiped, his flame more like a flicker. They’ve been dodging jets of water, fish, birds, and other Hudson debris for the better part of an hour now, and even Peter’s stamina is starting to give. 

Morris is still going strong, rampaging through Battery Park with no sign of stopping. The police have at least shown up to help contain the damage, blocking off the streets, but the Coast Guard is keeping their distance, making a blockade on the water and rerouting traffic. 

He hates this. 

He feels helpless. It’s not like he hasn’t gone up against Morris before, but it was never like this. Morris is just...angry, but if Johnny’s right and Namor had been holding him captive or worse--manipulating him somehow, he kind of doesn’t blame the guy for lashing out. Rage is something Peter understands. He’s lucky that he’s had people in his life who’ve been able to pull him back--Johnny being one of them. 

For all the “hothead” jokes he and Ben have made over the years, it surprised Peter to realize that nothing could be further from the truth. Johnny’s anger burns off quickly, and real anger--real rage--is something he can’t handle. He’s seen Johnny pull Sue and even Ben back more than once. They’d all struggled when Johnny was in the Negative Zone--not dead, he has to remind himself, Johnny was never dead, even when they thought he was--but it wasn’t until he’d come back that Peter had realized how Johnny was the real moral compass of the four, even when asked he (like everyone else) would point to Sue.

So, letting Morris rage until backup arrives is the only plan they have right now, with Johnny and Peter trading off on distracting Morris and taunting him and making sure that the collateral damage is kept to a minimum, but it’s starting to look like Bobby never checks his voicemail or social media.

Peter is chasing after another boat that’s come unmoored while and webs it back to the dock when his danger sense goes off and he looks up to see Johnny falling. He swings back quickly to wrap an arm around Johnny before he hits the water, and just has time to safety deposit him on the dock before he’s hit from behind. 

Water is hard.

It’s especially hard with someone using it as a bludgeon, just pushing him down, down, down beneath the water. He’d had the breath knocked from his lungs when the water hit him and now he can’t breathe. 

It’s getting dark, he thinks, and he’s been almost drowned often enough that he knows what’s coming, and his mind flashes on all the people he’s going to leave behind. May. MJ. Theresa. He’d just found his sister and now he was going to lose her. 

Johnny.

_ Johnny _ .

The next thing he feels is a hand around his wrist pulling him somewhere. The hand is hot, but maybe it’s just because the water is so cold. 

There’s something hard under his back, and he takes a deep breath that leaves him coughing and sputtering the water from his lungs, burning with the lack of oxygen and things he doesn’t want to think about. 

Hot hands are on his face and neck, and he can hear Johnny’s voice--high pitched and concerned, and he pushes up the mask high enough to try to reassure him that he’s okay, really. 

He must not be very convincing, because the next thing he knows he’s being crushed against Johnny’s chest and very carefully carried.

“Morris--” he gasps.

“Shut up. Oh my god, you idiot,” Johnny snaps. He never sounds more angry than when he’s scared for someone, Peter thinks. “Stop trying to talk when your lungs are full of North River water. Bobby finally showed up, and Sue’s here--she can help with the forcefields. They’ve got this.”

“Yay, team,” Peter says, weakly. He can feel the oxygen returning to his brain and his lungs, but he keeps his eyes closed, taking deep breaths. 

Johnny pushes him into a sitting position, and when Peter squints up at him, he’s glaring at him, like it’s Peter’s fault for almost drowning. Again. Which he guesses is fair. 

“We’re leaving as soon as you can stand up, so don’t you get any dumb self-sacrificing ideas, webwit,” Johnny adds, and Peter sighs, conceding the point. 

“You’re the boss,” he mumbles, staggering tiredly to his feet. “Lead on Macduff.”

Johnny laughs at that, and Peter is relieved--he must not look that dead if Johnny’s able to laugh. 

“Let’s get you home,” he says, with a sigh, and Peter relaxes into Johnny’s side, and the warm arm around his shoulders. 

**Feeding**

When they stagger into Peter’s apartment, Johnny leads Peter into the bedroom and lays him out on his bed and then disappears. Peter pulls his mask off completely and stares at the ceiling. When Johnny reappears into view, Peter blinks up at him. 

Whatever Johnny sees must not be encouraging, because he sighs.

“Right. Let’s get you naked.”

Peter plucks at the wet material against his skin. “Ugh.” He hates it when his uniform gets wet. 

Warm hands rub under the seam of his top and Peter looks up in surprise at Johnny leaning down over him. 

“You could at least buy me a drink first, Torch,” he jokes, weakly.

“Shut up,” Johnny complains, tugging at Peter’s shirt, and Peter laughs, breathlessly.

He swats at Johnny’s hands in token protest and twists his torso. “Do you know how uncomfortable this uniform is when wet?”

“Sure,” Johnny says, dryly. “It’s the wet uniform that’s the problem and not the bruised ribs.” His thumb digs into a bruise and Peter hisses in pain.

“Hey!” 

“Sorry.” Johnny sounds angry, not apologetic, but his hands are warm and gentle as they slide over his skin, carefully dragging the uniform top over his head. 

Peter flops back onto the bed when he’s finally free, starfishing as he takes stock of his injuries.

Johnny looks down at him with an expression that Peter thinks is unfairly judgmental. 

“You want to get my pants off?” he tries. He’s only half joking.

“You’re not funny,” Johnny replies, and that’s a blatant lie, Peter is hilarious. “You just lie there and try to remember that while I get you something to drink.”

Peter rubs his hand over his face and winces at the impact bruises. Another black eye. Aunt May’s going to love that. 

“Anything but water,” he grumbles, and Johnny’s expression softens slightly. He wracks his brain to think of what might be in his fridge. “I think there’s some orange juice that hasn’t expired yet?” he offers. 

“I’d put the odds at 50-50,” Johnny says, fondly, and yeah, that’s fair. 

He lies there on his back, thinking about the fight. Also thinking about the fact that he’s mostly naked. The air is cool on his skin, and Johnny could have at least pulled the sheet over him. He grabs for the edge and tries to get the blanket wrapped around him while also not moving off the bed. So far it’s not working. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Johnny sets the glass with what looks like juice on the nightstand and then puts his hands on his hips, eyebrow raised, and looking so much like Sue that Peter can’t wait to tell her about this later. 

“Blanket,” Peter explains, which earns him another eyeroll and longsuffering sigh, but also another set of hands that helps him get the blanket out from under him and across his chest.

Johnny stands when they’re done, and there’s a moment where something soft crosses over his expression before he takes a breath. “Parker luck holds out,” he says, and nods towards the glass on the nightstand. It takes far more effort than it should, but Peter scoots up so he can drink his probably-not-expired juice. 

“That’s not what the Parker Luck means,” Peter says, for the fiftieth time, and savors his orange juice. Nothing has ever tasted as good as this juice, ever.

“I know, but I get amusement from the way your forehead wrinkles in irritation.” Johnny reaches out and smooths the crease between his brows. “Right here.”

“You’re the worst friend,” Peter grouses. “Did you get some water?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” Johnny shrugs a shoulder. “I didn’t almost drown.”

“Hey, I distinctly remember that right before I almost drowned you fainted and I swung you over to the dock before you hit the water,” Peter replies. “And then you carried me home. Drink some water, matchstick.” 

Johnny looks faintly surprised, but then nods. “Fine. But I’m also ordering pizza. With pineapple.”

Peter makes an effort to look as pathetic as possible. “Haven’t I suffered enough today?” 

“You’ve suffered enough for a lifetime,” Johnny says, and the seriousness catches Peter off guard. He picks up Peter’s empty juice glass. “Half sausage and pepperoni.  _ Half _ .”

“I love you,” he declares, sincerely.

“I know.” Johnny smirks, because he can never resist a  _ Star Wars _ reference. 

Peter blinks at Johnny again and he doesn’t know why it’s this moment, but he realizes, with startling clarity, that he means it. Johnny’s looking at him with affection, and it’s been a long time since he’s had someone take care of him--or more to the point, a long time since he’s allowed someone to take care of him like this. 

“No I--I really love you,” he says, and is surprised at how it feels, at the truth of it.

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “For ordering pizza?”

“No.” It’s not that simple. But maybe it is. “Not for the pizza, or the juice, or the carrying me home. But--yes. For all of it.” He makes a sweeping gesture, trying to encompass everything he’s feeling. 

“How hard did you hit your head?” Johnny asks, after a beat.

From this angle he can see Johnny’s mouth is tight, and Peter knows Johnny well enough--has known him for what feels like decades--to know that he’s hiding something. 

Peter frowns, trying to make sense of the question. “Maybe just hard enough,” he decides. 

He reaches up, hooks his hand around the back of Johnny’s neck and pulls him down. He can hear Johnny’s sharp intake of breath before their lips meet, and then there’s just warm skin. He slides his hands down Johnny’s shoulders to pull him closer, and he can feel the moment when Johnny hesitates, before he moves. 

Johnny’s knees end up on either side of Peter’s hips, and his hands settle on his hips briefly, but he ends up moving them, restless, hungry for more skin.

When he pulls back to take a breath he studies Johnny’s face. There’s a fragile, beautiful expression on Johnny’s face. Need and want and something that looks like fear. He reaches up to cup Johnny’s cheek, nudges his lower lip with his thumb. 

“Right,” he says. “Let’s get you naked.” 

That garners a smile, and a soft laugh as Johnny leans down, cups Peter’s face in both hands as he touches their foreheads together. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Fucking**

Peter fumbles at Johnny’s unfamiliar uniform until Johnny pushes his hands away and stands up. The top--jacket--comes off first, and Peter’s surprised to see a soft sleeveless shirt underneath that joins the jacket on the floor. Johnny bends over a little to wiggle out of his pants--skintight, which Peter’s noticed before but not noticed before and is going to have a difficult time not noticing from now on. 

“You waiting for something?” Johnny asks, peeling the pants down one leg. 

Right. He’s still wearing his pants. 

He digs his heels into the mattress and lifts his hips, then quickly peels the still-wet fabric down his hips and off his legs, tossing it--and the sheet aside. 

Johnny’s wearing ridiculously tiny shorts with Spider-Man masks on them, and Peter laughs, sitting up on the edge of the bed to pull him close again. 

“I gave those to you as a joke,” Peter says, baffled. 

“You gave me  _ underwear with your face on it _ ,” Johnny replies, pointedly. 

He wants to ask what that’s supposed to mean, but decides that arguing is a waste of valuable kissing time.

Johnny makes that same soft sound as when Peter grabbed him before, and Peter looks up at him, even as he rubs his thumbs over Johnny’s hip bones. He draws Johnny back down into his lap, humming in approval as he settles, thighs snug against his own. 

He can’t help but run his hands over the warm skin, and tilts his head up as Johnny leans down to kiss him, sliding warm fingers against his scalp. 

Need takes over, urgent, and soon it’s not enough just to have Johnny in his lap. He rolls them over, shifting to his knees between Johnny’s spread thighs. Johnny’s hands move south, avoiding most of his bruises, and settle on his backside, pulling him closer. 

The friction with Johnny’s shorts and his hard on, feeling Johnny’s just on the other side of the fabric, is unbearable, and he hastens to push them down and off. Johnny shifts beneath him to help in a way that is completely not helping, but then it’s just skin against skin.

“C’mon, Pete,” Johnny urges, breathlessly, and Peter makes a soft sound against his mouth. The need in Johnny’s voice makes his stomach twist with want. Peter feels like he’s drowning, again. But he thinks he’d be happy to drown like this for the rest of his life. 

Johnny relaxes his hold and meets Peter’s eyes again, pupils wide and glowing in that way that gets his danger sense going. He slides his fingers into Peter’s hair to tug on his curls, an assent and a complaint all at once. 

There’s too much--his senses are good, but even enhanced he can’t process everything he’s feeling. Heat and friction and that arousal, building and twisting as they move together. He bites his lip as his orgasm builds to the breaking point, because Johnny’s close too.

“Pete--” Johnny’s eyes are like embers now, and it’s no longer like drowning. It’s like burning. But the heat never touches his skin. 

He feels it when Johnny comes, his body going stiff and hot, and when Peter catches up to him it feels like his spine is melting, and he’s once again lost in the light. 

**The Fifth F**

Warm hands draw him back, like before, and he’s wet. Again. There’s something ironic there, or at least humorous, and he laughs softly, and hears a muffled echoing laugh against his shoulder. 

For the moment, he’s content to just lie here with Johnny, a warm line of heat at his side. A human heating pad, for which his bruised side is incredibly grateful right now. It’s been a hell of a day, and he’s studied enough biology to know that the adrenaline from the earlier fight could easily explain the sudden need--could have acted as a biological push as part of the “Four Fs.” 

But that doesn’t explain this feeling right now--the something that he’s feeling that’s more than just that physical and emotional release. It doesn’t explain why this part--the sex part--feels like the beginning of something new, rather than the end of something else. It doesn’t explain that when he looks at Johnny now he thinks of another “F” to put a name to what he’s feeling.

Family.

As much as he’s tried to forget Johnny’s time in the Negative Zone, which seems like so long ago and yet still too soon and too painful to remember, he can’t forget Johnny’s message. He knew, even then, that he wasn’t being given Johnny’s spot on the team. Johnny was giving him his family--and giving him to his family. And for all those horrible months, that was what they’d been to each other.

When Johnny had come back, and everything had gone back to the way it had been before--or maybe he’d just been desperate to pretend that it could be the way it had been. And then there hadn’t been time to think about what it had meant--what family meant, because Otto took his life from him, and he had to fight to get it back.

It felt like he’d only just gotten his life back when the world--worlds--had ended. They’d been rebuilt, but not completely. Not correctly, if the people Johnny loved most had left him. But they were back now too (with an explanation that makes him wonder what the real explanation is), just in time to see Ben marry Alicia. 

Johnny lifts his head to nose behind Peter’s ear and Peter combs his fingers through Johnny’s hair, long enough at the moment to curl slightly at the ends. He knows that he’s the worst at relationships--and that Johnny has his fair share of relationship issues too. He knows that this is only a momentary peace, that any minute now, their lives--their world--will be threatened again. But isn’t that all the more motivation to hold onto this, to fight for this, with all his being?

“What are you thinking about?” Johnny’s tone is teasing, but Peter can hear the trace of anxiety underneath, the way he tightens his hands around him just slightly.

“Pizza,” Peter lies. 

**Fin**

  
  



End file.
